Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Can’t people just…be together without defining all the shit?!
Without adding all the bells and whistles and little boxes to check?!
It’s not a service form for crying out loud!
It’s a…person to person thing!
Feeling my throat begin to tighten pushes me to quietly croak, “I’mma step outside for some air.”
“It is a little stuffy in the store, huh? Probably could lower the temp.”
I force myself to nod.
“Understood!” She warmly wiggles her entire frame like an excited Labradoodle. “No worries!”
Wrong.
I should be really fucking worried.
Rationale says to pump the breaks because we barely know shit about this woman while instinct is gnawing at me that I know enough.
Do I?
Is knowing I want her safe and am willing to do anything to make that possible really fucking enough?
And what about Kipp?
I know him better than I know my fucking self, but logic says to grind everything to a stop and to not get invested because this is probably just a phase for him.
Not…whatever it is I feel it might be.
Could be…if I let it – like instinct is insisting I should.
Like I possibly should’ve years ago.
Getting suddenly slapped by the cold air the instant I step outside is perfect and refreshing; however, immediately being greeted by two suspicious looking men is not.
I don’t see badges, but considering the way they’re dressed, they’re either UCs, detectives, or whoever the fuck serves you papers when someone is suing you.
“Miles Nolan?” the rectangle headed one asks as I brace my back against the brick wall of the store.
Rather than confirm or deny, I slide my hands into my pockets. “Who’s askin’?”
“We are,” the shorter, thicker eyebrowed male informs.
A small unimpressed hum hits the air. “You think I owe you money?”
“No,” blockhead replies.
“You think I owe your client money?”
“No,” caterpillar face answers.
“Either of you think I fucked your wife?”
“No,” they retort in unison.
“Then whatdoyou want?”
Like a poorly rehearsed scene in a movie, they each shift their jackets to the side to reveal detective badges.
“Nice hardware.” The new information has no effect on my demeanor. “Didn’t answer my question though.”
“We want you to answer a couple of ours,” rectangle head announces prior to standing up as tall as he can. “I’m Detective Davis.” He gestures inward. “This is Detective Northwood.” His finger flicks to his partner. “We’re from Augustine County Police Department. Do you know where that is?”
“Somewhere out near Spike Village.”
Detective Davis slowly nods. “You familiar with that area?”
“I’ve picked up work that way.”
“Frequently?” Detective Northwood questions.
“When I need it.”
They nod together in an uncomfortable nature.
I know what this shit is about.
And unfortunately for Dumb & Dumber here, I’m not the redneck backwoods idiot they think that I am.
“We were wondering about your whereabouts,” Detective Davis proclaims pulling out his phone from his inner jacket pocket.
“That wasn’t a question,” I slyly point out seconds prior to the door chiming, “and you didn’t specify a day or a time.”
“Problem?” Kipp cautiously investigates, redirecting my gaze to him and our woman who is thankfully still wearing the oversized hat she tried on earlier.
“Not to my knowledge.” Unsure of who can be trusted or how far her ex-dick head’s reach really goes convinces me to cleverly suggest to Bunny, “Babe, why don’t you take the bags to the truck for us? Go stay warm. Temp feels like it’s droppin’. Don’t want you to get sick again. We’ll be there in a sec.”
She hums in acknowledgement and scampers off making sure not to allow them to see her face like the brilliant beauty she is.
Keeping my gaze plastered on her is both a protective and distraction tactic to have their focus where I want it versus where it might be more inconvenient.
Getting rid of two badge wearing bodies would be a lot more difficult than some random ass bounty hunter wannabe.
Detective Davis clears his throat and sternly bites, “Mr. Nolan.”
I let my stare meet his once more while Kipp stations himself protectively beside me. “What can I do for ya?”
“Can you tell us where you were Monday morning?”
“Working.”
“Where?” Northwood quickly asks.
“I don’t remember off the top of my head. I’d have to check my logs.”
“Do you recall if you were in or around Spike Village?”
“Again, detective,” my emphasis is presented to indicate my irritation, “without my documentation in front of me, your guess is as good as mine.”
“Do you happen to recall if you gave assistance to a man named Patrick Baker?” Detective Davis proceeds to interrogate.
“Not off the top of my head.”
“This is him,” Davis announces at the same time he shoves his cell in my direction. “Look familiar?”
Meeting his glare is as effortless as my answer. “No.”
“According to his phone records he called and texted your company several times for a tow,” Northwood reveals like he’s hoping to rattle me.
It doesn’t.
It doesn’t even warrant a fucking response.
“That jog your memory?” Davis prods after tucking his device away.